


Olfactive needs

by hazelandglasz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Baby Werewolves, Children, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Parenthood, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:38:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4067062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>framby asked<br/>imagine newly father sterek and Derek dresses their baby with Stiles shirt and he carries the baby against him all the time (especially when stiles isn't looking) so the baby'll smell exactly like them, like a family, like pack</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olfactive needs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [framby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/framby/gifts).



Stiles knows that he washed it–or at the very least, that he put it in the hamper to be washed.

His favorite plaid shirt should be in the machine. Not that it was dirty, but he had wore it for a whole day of research, better safe than smelly.

“Derek?” he calls, expecting Derek to hear him from wherever he is and to answer.

Seems like today is a day for expectations to turn into disappointments.

Shrugging one of Derek’s Henleys on, Stiles goes looking for his husband, because when he finds him, he’s going to give him a piece of his mind about not answering and losing his shirt, Stiles is now almost convinced that the shirt got shredded during one of the pack’s exercises,  _dammit Derek, don’t you know how hard it is to find plaid shirt that are actually soft like that?_

“You’re mumbling.”

Derek’s murmur comes from Ania’s room and Stiles freezes, takes a deep breath and pushes the door of the room.

Derek has his back to him, but his arms are folded in a way that can only mean one thing: he’s holding their princess against his chest, and Stiles’ righteous anger about his shirt flies out of the window.

“Hey,” he says softly as not to startle the baby in Derek’s arms. “What are you–oh.”

Stiles stops mid-sentence because he has found his shirt.

It’s not shredded, that’s for sure.

No, actually, it’s carefully tucked around the little girl’s body, her hands barely emerging from the rolled sleeves to pat her Daddy’s chest while she quietly babbles around her pacifier, tear tracks on her cheeks.

Stiles gets closer, hooking his chin over Derek’s shoulder. “What is going on here?”

Derek tilts his head towards him but keeps his eyes on their daughter. “Miss Ania tried to get out of bed by herself,” he starts explaining, “and even though she didn’t hurt herself, she got … panicked.”

“Oh.”

“You were in the bathroom, so I tried calming her,” Derek continues, reaching to poke at the little girl’s nose, “but it didn’t work, she kept on crying.”

Stiles coos at the both of them, since he knows how deeply Derek hurts when his little cub is in pain.

“Anyway,” Derek continues, “I went looking for you, since  _you’re_ so good at calming her, and I found your shirt and I figured that what she needed was–”

“Was?”

Derek focuses again on the toddler in his arms, since she has stopped babbling and is looking up at him with an intensity that reminds him of Stiles, except for the calm that comes from her in waves.

Her eyes flashes blue and he smiles at her, before she resumes her patting and playing with his shirt.

“ _Pack_ ,” Derek whispers and Stiles nuzzles the back of his neck.

“Besides,” Derek says, turning his head towards Stiles when he lifts his head from Derek’s shoulder, “I know for a fact that she loves your scent.”

“For a fact, uh?”

Derek slowly moves around, the baby blinking back to sleep because that’s what she does best, and opens a drawer under the changing table.

Folded and arranged by length, it appears, are several of Stiles’ old shirts–some of them were supposed to be thrown away before Ania’s arrival, but for the others, Stiles had just assumed that they had gone missing.

“Oh.”

“I told you that you were good to calm her down,” Derek says, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ cheek, taking advantage of his momentarily stunned posture to put the baby in his arms. “I’ll go prepare both your bottles,” he adds with a chuckle on his way out.

Stiles doesn’t react to the jab, because he’s too busy lifting Ania closer to his face so he can brush his nose against her soft cheek.

“You like the smell of your Papa?” he asks softly, barely audible to his own ears. “I like how  _you_ smell,” he adds, inhaling deeply the scent of baby powder and the smell of Derek’s cologne lingering on her–on his shirt, actually.

“Derek?” he calls again, and there he is, the wolf of his life, bringing one bottle and a … “Did you pour my coffee in a  _sippy cup_?”

“I sure did. Why did you call?” Derek doesn’t look even a little bit repentant, but Stiles will make him pay later.

When there is no damageable pup between them and that he doesn’t have an epiphany.

“I don’t think it’s  _my_ scent that calms her,” he says, taking the bottle to her and snorting at the way she practically inhales the milk.

“No?”

“Nope. I think it’s a combination.”

“Of what?”

There is a faint trace of irritation in Derek’s voice, and it brings back memories.

Fond irritation from Derek towards his person–ah, good times.

Truth be told, though, Stiles prefers the times they are in.

“Of  _our_ scents.”

Yeah, the look on Derek’s face as he realizes what it means, that Ania definitely needs and loves both of her daddies to feel at peace–Stiles definitely prefers it to almost any of his faces.

(His face when he comes is unassailable in Stiles’ ranking)


End file.
